Ten Days After The Wedding
by bleedingangel89
Summary: D/S - Set 10 days after Lily and Bart's wedding, Serena trying to cope in the Hamptons. Chap 2 will be from Dan's perspective.


**A/N – I KNOW! Another oneshot when I really should be updating AYA, ANS and Thanksgiving, I apologise. I just couldn't get this idea out of my head when I listened to this song today. Ten Days by Australian singer Missy Higgins. This is nothing like all the happy DS fluff I usually write. Just warning y'all in advance. I've gone out of my comfort zone and hope I do an ok job! Thanks to Steph and Mel for putting up with all my crap and helping me!3**

**Please R&R :)**

* * *

_So we've put an end to it this time._

_I'm no longer yours and you're no longer mine._

_You said this hill looks far too steep_

_if I'm not even sure it's me you wanna keep._

_And it's been ten days without you in my reach,_

_and the only time I've touched you is in my sleep._

* * *

Much of the day she spends sitting curled up in the gold-trimmed shower, the water up so hot, scolding her, because the pain is nothing compared to the pain inside her.

Her phone just sits vibrating on the wooden bedside table, flashing constantly with all the messages people are sending to and leaving her.

Lily's still away with Bart on their honeymoon, Blair's in France, Eric's back in Manhattan and Chuck has stopped bugging her since he got a mouthful the week before.

She doesn't really sleep. Sure, she shuts her eyes for a few hours every day or night, but the whole time she's having nightmares, literally tossing and turning non-stop. She wakes up crying and sweating most of the time, not encouraging her to return to the slumber.

The man at the bottle store gives her concerned looks when she walks out the door with the four paper bags for the third time that week.

She doesn't do anything else, because everywhere she goes, she sees him. Not _him_, but him. She's haunted by the memory of him and it's driving her insane.

Every morning, lunch and dinner the obedient maid delivers a meal to her door, knocks three times and places it on the carpet near the door. Only one of those three meals, if any, is eaten each day. Today was a breakfast day, so no need to open the door again.

* * *

_And time has changed nothing at all -_

_you're still the only one that feels like home._

_I've tried cutting the ropes and_

_I let you go but you're still the only one_

_that feels like home._

* * *

Until she sneaks out at night and runs to the beach. She holds no fear that its 1:00am and she's by herself running through the bushes.

She gets to the sand and sets up the small fire holding the objects in her hands, ready to burn. As soon as the flames ignite the cardigan and the three pieces of spiral notebook paper, she cries and wishes she could put it out in an instant.

She uses her quivering hands to throw sand onto the fire, wailing at her fucking _stupid _decision. She burns her hand on a log as she reaches in for what is left of the grey material and paper.

That just makes her bawl even louder, screaming into the open night air. What surprises her the most is the fact that the burning of her hand hurts nowhere, _nowhere_ near as much as the pain inside. The blisters steadily forming are the least of her worries.

She holds the ruined brown pieces of paper to her heart, and sobs as bits of the edge just fall off into ashes.

She pulls the cardigan to her nose and moans when she finds it now reeks of fire, and burnt material, rather than him.

She throws the two ruined items, all that she physically has left of him, onto the sand and sprints down to the water.

* * *

_You won't talk me into it next time,_

_if I'm going away your hearts coming too._

_'Cos I miss your hands I miss your face._

_When I get back let's disappear without a trace._

* * *

She revels in the feeling of the freezing water on her burning hand. The salt stings all the cuts that are littered over her body; some accidental, some not.

She looks up at the sky and tries to imagine what he is doing right now. Images of him with Georgina and random girls faces she doesn't even know flash in front of her. Trying to get the pictures to go away, she stays under in the darkness for that little bit too long. Her mouth is closed shot and she's trying not to breathe.

She's struggling to continue to beat her legs and stay up. When suddenly the black hits her, she panics and immediately pushes off the sand underneath her and back to the surface, her sore eyes opening and her mouth breathing harder than it ever has before.

She swims briskly back to the sand, not even noticing how fucking cold she is as she runs back up to the withering fire. Her jean-shorts are soaked and heavy, rubbing between her thighs.

She grabs the half-a-cardigan and note from the sand, and continues to run, not stopping until she reaches the house.

* * *

_'Cos it's been ten days without you in my reach,_

_and the only time I've touched you is in my sleep._

* * *

She gets home and moves through the mansion, not giving a fuck about the trail of water and sand she's leaving on the marble floor and carpet.

She heads straight for the bottles under her vanity and bangs her head against the glass of the shower door as she takes her familiar spot on the cold, cold tiles.

The taste which once would have made her purge doesn't even taste at all as she closes her eyes and chugs the clear pungent liquid down her throat. She stops and looks at the amateur scars on her left wrist, splashing some vodka over them also. 'Might as well keep them clean' she thinks.

As she does so, she washes away some sand with the saltwater stains, and looks down to her jean shorts which are going stiff from the salt water.

* * *

_But time has changed nothing at all -_

_you're still the only one that feels like home._

_I've tried cutting the ropes,_

_tried letting go but you're still the only one_

_that feels like home._

* * *

She lifts her pelvis to rip them off, her elbow knocking the glass bottle over on the tiles; glass shattering everywhere in a pool of clear pungent liquid.

When she sits back down, shorts tossed out the door of the ensuite, she feels shards of glass pricking her legs and thighs. To solve the pain, she grabs the second bottle from the cupboard and gulps the gin as if it were lemonade.

Some time after - she has lost all sense of time, all she knows is that it's been ten days - she is curled up in her regular ball on the bed. Small blood stains forming scattered over the white sheets, she holds onto the burnt cardigan and wails, shaking as her head spins from the alcohol.

She finally lets go of the charcoal material, her hand searching behind her for the piece of technology she hasn't touched since she arrived in the Hamptons.

She blinks her eyes shut forcefully and opens them again, hoping that will enable her to read the small text on the phone.

She scrolls through a small number of the missed calls, not caring that Blair, Lily and Eric have been thinking about her. When she can't see his name she heads to her message inbox instead. When there's nothing there either she curses him and throws the phone against the wall.

* * *

_So tell me, did you really think..._

_oh tell me, did you really think_

_I had gone when you couldn't see me anymore?_

_When you couldn't..._

* * *

Regretting her decision (once again) but not having the energy nor the sobriety to get off the bed and get the cell phone, she grabs the landline phone off the other bedside table, usually reserved for intercom. Her shaking fingers automatically dial the number they know all too well.

At four rings she's about to hang up, when she hears his own shaky voice greet her with a question. 'Hello?'

She silences her bawling by biting her lip, but she covers the receiver with her pale cut hand just in case. His voice becomes more sure of itself, as he questions again, 'Hello?'

She wants so badly to talk to him, to tell him how she feels and make him get in a car to see her right this fucking minute. What she would do to have him hold her, tweezer the glass out of her damaged skin, and kiss the scars that remain.

His voice comes to a realisation, and it softens as it questions 'Wh..who...who is this?'

She doesn't respond, instead she turns the receiver up so it's above her head because she doesn't want him to hear her sobbing.

After an even longer silence than the last, the voice speaks again, as she presses her eyes tight and pushes the phone so hard to her ear it's uncomfortable; she wants to hear every bit of expression in his voice.

'Serena?' the voice asks tentatively. The sound of her name in his voice makes her wail out loud, and she presses the hang up button as soon as she hears it.

* * *

_'Cos baby time has changed nothing at all -_

_you're still the only one that feels like home._

_And I've tried cutting the ropes,_

_I let you go but you're still the only one_

_that feels like home, yeah,_

_you're still the only one that feels like home,_

_you're still the only one I've gotta love._

* * *


End file.
